Ethereal Beauty
by hyacinthian
Summary: He thought she looked most beautiful then, skates on her feet, snow in her hair, and the beautiful world falling around her. [DnA]


The stars were out tonight. She couldn't stop looking at them when she was out to dinner with her mother. They had sat, in relative silence, trying to convince each other that they were all right, that lives were good. Her mother felt that these mother-daughter dinner sessions were important, they helped them bond. _Bond_. She scoffed at the thought. _Bonding wasn't as essential when I was growing up though, was it, mom? _She had to admit that she was more than a little bitter about her childhood. While it was better than most, she still felt that she was entitled to a bit more love than her mother was capable of giving, or showing, at least.

"So, Aiden, how is work?"

She prodded at her lasagna, watching the ricotta cheese ooze out the side like rationality from her life. The only rational thing left were the principles she had to use in her job. "It's good, mom."

"Good?" Her mother snorted derisively. "For that measly pay you're getting, it better be good. In fact, it damn well better be excellent."

_Here we go again. _Aiden looked up, dark eyes flashing brilliantly with anger and defensiveness. "Mother, despite what the pay is, it's a good job, and I'm happy there."

"Happy? You couldn't have been happy anywhere else?" The waiter had chosen that precise moment of tension to stop by. Her mother ordered more alcohol. Exactly what she needed. Another glass of wine before stopping home to bitch about her. "Aiden, do you remember when you were younger…?"

"Yes, mother. I remember." Her mother's eyes lit up and sparkled like the faux diamond tennis bracelet she wore. She lifted the flute and downed the wine quickly.

"God, you were the greatest, Aiden. You were the best out there. We could have moved, you know, to California. You could have pursued that dream. You could have _been _somebody, honey. You don't need to stay in New York for the hell of it. You were damn talented. Too bad you didn't do anything about it." She chose that moment to continue with her meal. Aiden wanted to kill her mother right then and there.

"Mother…" she began, attempting unsuccessfully to keep the angry tone out of her voice. "I've made the choices in my life, I've realized the consequences, and I accept them. I'm happy with my life. I'm working for the city, I'm helping people…"

Her mother snorted. "What help are you to dead people, hon?"

Aiden quickly downed her wine. "I help them find peace," she said, with a tone of finality. "And that is worth more to me than all of the prizes and trophies I've ever won, or could have won."

"You could have helped people through entertainment!" Her mother threw her hands down on top of her own. "Aiden, you were a sight to see! You were absolutely magnificent. They said you could have gone to the Olympics."

Aiden rolled her eyes in disgust and began to root through her wallet to pay for her share of the meal. "The Olympics!" her mother hissed at her. "Do you know how big you could have been? How much money you could have made?"

"Mother," she said, throwing the money down on the table with a bit more force than intended. "I am happy with my life, I am happy with the decisions I've made, and I'm more than willing to continue to live my life the way I have been for the past few years. G'night."

She had spent the rest of the night aimlessly wandering around the city. The buzz that the expensive wine had provided still lingered, the remainder of a kiss long forgotten. Her mother's words were taunting her in her head, mimicking every decision she had ever made. Would her life really have been that much better if she had chosen to consent to her mother's dreams of grandeur and fame?

She looked up, her dark eyes flickering over the thinly veiled stars in the cityscape. She curved her full lips around a smile and allowed the cosmic beauty to wrap around her, to wash over her and fill her wounds with an ethereal newness that would never let her mother get to her. She breathed in the chill air of December, embracing her vitality. Even if her mother was too myopic to fully enjoy life didn't mean that she had to be that way.

She wandered the city, her eyes vaguely catching street signs, their familiar names etched in white onto the green sign. Bleecker. Mott. Sometimes, she thought there was nothing here that she could have saved, nothing here that could make her feel comfortable. And then there were times when she could simply sit in a park, watch a single leaf float to the ground, and feel utterly at home.

Strangers passed by her, strangers who didn't catch the faint scent of alcohol on her breath. Strangers who thought she was merely beautiful, not intelligent. Strangers who perhaps thought she was merely another Caucasian in a city of ethnicity and diversity. She thought that New York was where she would always be. New York was etched within her, a mere detail within the grand scheme of her DNA. She would always be part of this city, and the city would always be part of her.

She stopped in an "open twenty-four hours" sports store, and decided to splurge. She bought a pair of ice skates. She began to walk, the brown paper bag in hand, towards some unknown destination, some mysterious place that would make her forget the words of her mother. _You could have been something. You really could have done something with your life. _Wasn't she doing something now? Helping tell the stories of corpses, fulfilling the wishes of those who had died against their will? She shook her head, unwilling to let her mother's derogatory words sink into her brain.

She paused in step when she saw it. A man collided with her shoulder, and cursed loudly. She apologized and began to walk again. She stood at the corner of the intersection, on the sidewalk, and stared at it. New York City was alive and beating at two a.m., but that place, it was untouched. Open…and untouched. She drifted towards it.

She sat on a nearby park bench. The place was even secluded. Large Douglas Firs helped hide her from prying eyes. She removed the skates from the bag and set them precariously on her lap as she removed her shoes and placed them in the bag. Her pale, thin fingers wrapped delicately around the lace, and she began to indulge in the familiar process of lacing up skates. As soon as she had them both on, she stretched a bit. She wondered if she could still do this.

She stood, the hard snow providing enough traction for her to shakily make her way to the ice. As she arrived on the ice, she heard the familiar crunch of blades against the ice. She skated around the rather large rink. She warmed herself up, skating backwards and forwards for quite a bit. She felt rather daring. Smiling a bit, she challenged herself, and dug the familiar tip of the skate into the ice, and leapt. Like she had done so many years ago, her body flew and rotated until she landed safely on the one skate. _Triple toe loop. _Physics. It had always been her friend.

And so she continued, skating back and forth, indulging herself with a few shaky bits of choreography that she pulled from her memory, until she had something resembling a routine. She dug her right skate into the ice once more, hearing the familiar crunch of metal against natural crystal, and she leapt and rotated, the familiar joy of flying and landing successfully filling her soul. She landed on one foot, again, arms thrown out.

"Aiden." The gruff, familiar voice washed over her from behind, and she slowly skidded to a stop before turning around. She found herself staring at him. She glanced down, and adorned upon his feet were hockey skates.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well," he started, a grin finding its way onto his face. "It's nice to see you too."

"I see you've got some freakishly large shoes on your feet."

He rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest, looking absolutely exasperated. "They're hockey skates, Aid."

She smirked. "Oh, are they? I didn't know."

"Show me some more of that…uh…jumpin' thing," he stated, the words rolling around awkwardly in his mouth.

She smirked again. "Jumpin' thing?" she mocked. Yet she obliged him, and skated forward a bit to gain momentum, before attempting a simple jump. She landed, and was greeted by soft clapping.

"That's good. You used to skate?"

"Yeah, when I was younger."

"You're good."

She tilted her head. "Eh. Not that good." He skated to her until he was very close to her, and his face almost touched hers.

Her head suddenly moved into a tilted downward position. "Don't knock yourself, Aid." When she looked up again, he found tears shining on her cheeks and within her eyes. He said nothing for a second, simply let the silence envelop them. His hands moved to her face, and his thumbs gently brushed away her tears.

They still said nothing. There was nothing but the traditional vulgar sounds of New York gracing their ears. He began to inch closer, the distance between them began to shorten. His eyes darted down to her lips, red and full. His lips captured hers, and she began to respond against him. His tongue swept her mouth suddenly, but she yielded to him, and was lost in the feeling of the kiss. When they pulled apart, he smiled.

"What?"

His eyes darted to the sky, where the stars had been hiding, and she noticed that now, they were opening, pouring their souls back out to them. She lifted her arms and spun gracefully as the snow began to fall ever rapidly aroun them.


End file.
